


we will stay till the end comes reeling

by userl4me



Series: Bandom Bingo 2017 [4]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Fluff, Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No shipping, Sleep Deprivation, can sleep deprivation count as hurt tho, i am weak for a group of diff people finding family with each other, seriously this is fluffy as fUCK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 12:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/userl4me/pseuds/userl4me
Summary: Party Poison, slowly freezing whilst keeping guard at the front of the diner, pretends he doesn't want to go to sleep. The rest aren't stupid enough to leave him alone, so they help him sleep through the power of cuddles, shitty blankets, and Party's sappy internal monologues.





	

Party Poison only remembered one thing from his science classes back in Battery City: "Though scorching during the day," his science teacher said, though he only paid attention that day because of the black bra poking through her sheer blouse, "the deserts get freezing at night."

Battery City was known for their lies about the desert and the evils (also known as the Killjoys themselves) it held in its sandy palms, but goddamn they weren't fucking around about the nights. Party rubbed at his numbing nose with a gloved hand, like even his breathing was getting chapped. All he had were gloves, a button-up, and boxers, because they were short on clothes and Poison would be damned if he let his friends freeze through the night while he'd soak up the heat. So what if all he could do was press his cheek against the glass of their hideout's windows, and keep his gun tucked in the waistband of his boxers? If he couldn't sleep, the least he could do was to at least keep a (very fatigued) lookout. 

However, Party didn't have the energy to pull out his gun and shoot whomever he just heard walking around the hideout, only because he knew it was either The Girl or one of guys. The footsteps were quiet like whoever was walking was barefoot, and Party knew that Bl/Ind's bitches never took off their shining black boots, even if it meant them getting caught. As if they wanted the Joys to admire their new kicks while they were being shot at in a battle. 

"You look like death," The Kobra Kid said bluntly, leaning against the table Party sat by, his voice muffled by his helmet. It made Kobra sweat during the day, but it proved useful during nights like these. 

"I look fresh as fuck," Party said with a half-smirk, half-grimace. “So you just going to stand there, or...?

Kobra ran a hand through his hair, dried out from the grease he used to keep it in place. "Look, me an' everyone- Ghoul and Jet and the Girl- we kinda feel shitty letting you freeze your ass up here."

Party squinted, focusing his vision on the diner door leading to the back of the kitchen: Fun Ghoul was leaning by the doorframe, while Jet was carrying a half-asleep Girl over his shoulders. With a laugh, Party twirled his gun lazily in his fingers, not caring if he'd accidentally pull the trigger and blow his own brains out. Jet winced at his carelessness. 

"I don't know about you assholes, but I'm solid up here," he said to Ghoul- no, Kobra. Fucking late-night blurry vision. "Besides, blue skin and red hair was totally be one fucking look. Dracs'd be talking about it for days if they pull up here."

The Girl jumped down from Jet's shoulders, all the Joys' jackets piled on her to keep her warm. Sliding across the floor with her socks, the Girl approached Party, a blanket (the edges torn off by being used as bandages) in her arms. 

"I'm using the blanket if you don't," the Girl said. Party could only crack a grin, and dismissed the blanket. He was a leader, goddamnit, and leaders did not give up so easily. What would the Girl think if he used the blanket- that she could just ask for shit like this anywhere, like the deserts where a fucking palace? If Party was going to be a leader, he should be in the Girl's place, offering more than just his clothes, like he was the Robin Hood of Sleep. 

"Fine. Use it, I don't care. Does it look like I care?" Party said. Shrugging, the Girl simply threw the blanket on the table Party was sitting by, and shuffled onto the booth. She grabbed the blanket, made sure it was tucked into Party like how she saw Jet do it, and pulled the other side of the blanket towards her. Cracking a grin, Party could only grumble, "You got your blanket, motorbaby. Now help me tell these losers to go back to sleep."

The Girl, pretending to sleep, nestled her head on Party’s shoulder, and he tilted his head onto her tangled, curly hair. Though The Girl knew how to be a little shit most days (she learned from the best, of course), Party still used her hair as a pillow (he knew it was a privilege: usually, only Jet was allowed to be even near her hair). As The Girl huddled towards Party, he realized (begrudgingly) that The Girl was a fucking toaster, even in the night.

“The fuck are you guys looking at?” Party mumbled, ignoring the sudden smirks from the rest of the guys. Though smirking usually indicated something was cooking in their cracked brains, Party only had time for one little shit. “All of you, go back to sleep. If I hear any complaints about being tired tomorrow, don’t think the Dracs’ll let us take a nap during a fight-“

Party felt the sudden freeze of the diner’s glass window against his cheek, stifling a shriek as he was pressed against the window. Parting The Girl’s hair to look through, he glared as Fun Ghoul curled up beside The Girl like a goddamn house cat. Ignoring the fact that the rest of the guys were probably just as cold as Party (even though Ghoul had both his and Party’s shirt on, the ungrateful bastard), Party hissed, “My spot, bitch, get your own.”

“So our leader can’t handle a little less space on the booth?” Ghoul grinned. Despite this, Ghoul let Party keep The Girl’s head as a pillow, so he wasn’t a complete asshole in Party’s book. No, that special spot was reserved for Kobra, who squeezed in the little space left in the booth. Unlike Party, who ignored the possibility of death by hypothermia through the window as he kept his complaints inside, Ghoul yelped, “Kobra I will fucking ghost you if you move one inch closer-“

Squeezing in further as he drowned out Ghoul’s complaints, Kobra glanced over at Jet, who was both attempting not to laugh and taking over Party’s job in looking out for Dracs, his finger resting the the gun’s handle like they were molded around it. “C’mon, Jet,” Kobra whispered so he wouldn’t wake The Girl (who was dead asleep by this point, a thin line of drool peeking out from her mouth). “You don’t need to worry about Poison here - he’s probably been squashed to death by this point.”

“I’m still alive, fuckface,” Party thought, nearly hugging the window as he brought The Girl closer so they’d be saved from Jet fitting himself in the booth, awkwardly maneuvering his lanky legs onto the table so Kobra would have room. Ghoul just attempted to sleep, trying not to suffer in silence as the middle.

“Hey, Party,” Jet whispered. “Just think of this as all those times when we had to pack heat in the Trans Am, before we found this place. Remember?”

“Course I do,” Party whispered back, but as he peered over The Girl’s head he found Jet passed out, his hair falling over Kobra’s face, obscuring it in the darkness. Back before they found the diner, the Trans Am was their home, their garden, their bed, their little slice of land in a world ready to be picked to pieces. They’d all huddle in the backseat, cheeks pressed against the glass, guns close by, but you could almost forget you could die at any moment when you were lulled to sleep by the warmth of your family.

 

Fuck, even if Korse himself pulled up to the diner, Party wouldn’t mind. Everyone dies in the desert eventually, but at least he wouldn’t die alone.

 

Letting himself lean from the glass, he snaked an arm over The Girl’s head and around Fun Ghoul’s shoulder for support, their skin nearly burning from their earlier excursion for food yesterday. Sure, he thought to himself, Jet was overprotective, Fun Ghoul was a little shit, The Girl damn near idolized Ghoulie so of course she’d also be a piece of shit at times, and Kobra was Party’s fucking brother - of course he was going to be awful. Yet, seeing them all folded over each other, a tangled mess of bodies and personalities still big even while sleeping, Party could only grin. He knew he was a shit leader in so many ways, but he was still going to pretend he knew what he was doing, if only to keep these cracked, jumbled fucked-up excuses for people by his side until the Phoenix Witch decided that maybe, the Killjoys had to die.

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! back with another fic featuring my favorite trope: a group of misfits finding friendship and family and caring about each other. bc family doesn't have to be a mom, a dad, and two kids in the suburbs: it can also be four teenagers and a little girl in the desert
> 
> please leave comments on what i can improve on, and have a nice day!
> 
> (also i may have stolen the title from Bulletproof Heart bc im lame like that)


End file.
